A Team
by frosting snowflakes
Summary: /song-fic/ chrisxdylan. A Team by Ed Sheeran. "It's too cold outside, for angels to fly" She was just an angel who had lost her way.


_White lips, pale face_

_Breathing in snowflakes_

_Burnt lungs, sour taste_

_Light's gone, day's end_

_Struggling to pay rent_

_Long nights, strange men_

Christopher Plovert had found Dylan Marvil in a dark alley all alone in the middle of the night. She looked lifeless. Her clothes were torn, and she smelled like smoke. He knew what she had been doing, and he knew what she had become. He didn't like it. Her mother had kicked her out a long time ago, and she had no money. The way she could pay for things were to sell her body to men. Chris picked Dylan up and carried her back to his truck. She had no idea what was going on. All she smelled was a familiar cologne. It was comforting.

_And they say_

_She's in the Class A Team_

_Stuck in her daydream_

_Been this way since eighteen_

_But lately her face seems_

_Slowly sinking, wasting_

_Crumbling like pastries_

This had all happened when they started their senior year. Dylan knew that she still wanted to be in the Pretty Committee. The A listers of Westchester, New York. They were all skinny and beautiful. She wanted to be beautiful. She learned in health class that smoking could make you skinnier. It was unhealthy, but it could. Dylan didn't care. She wanted to be skinny. She wanted to be beautiful. To have the gorgeous porcelain face. But instead of porcelain, she received broken glass.

_And they scream_

_The worst things in life come free to us_

_Cause we're just under the upper hand_

_And go mad for a couple grams_

_And she don't want to go outside tonight_

_And in a pipe she flies to the Motherland_

_Or sells love to another man_

_It's too cold outside_

_For angels to fly_

_Angels to fly_

All Chris could hear in the hallways of Briarwood Octavian Country Day High, was that the Dylan Marvil had finally cracked. Literally. she'd been doing crack. People stuck notes on her locker telling her to just go kill herself, that she'd never become beautiful. Chris tore them down as fast as he could before she could see them. He would cry himself to sleep every night because he felt like he couldn't do anything to help her. The girl he loved almost his entire life was breaking down. His angel was falling.

_Ripped gloves, raincoat_

_Tried to swim and stay afloat_

_Dry house, wet clothes_

_Loose change, bank notes_

_Weary-eyed, dry throat_

_Call girl, no phone_

Dylan had been wandering the rainy streets of Westchester looking for money. She found her way to the local bank to check her account, hoping for some money to at least by a McDonald's meal. 0.00$ it read. She had nothing. No friends, no family, no one. She made herself believe that. But deep in the back of her mind she knew that someone was there for her. She just never knew who, and never knew why. Crying by the time she got into her rusty old motel room that she had snuck into, she tried to think about the person who had picked her up and drove her away from that dark alley. She wanted to call them and thank them. But she didn't know who it was, or how to contact them.

_For angels to fly_

_An angel will die_

_Covered in white_

_Closed eye_

_And hoping for a better life_

_This time, we'll fade out tonight_

_Straight down the line_

_For angels to fly, to fly, to fly_

_Or angels to die._

A week later Chris had gotten a call from his mother saying that Dylan Marvil had passed last night. Police and doctors believed that she was diagnosed with lung cancer and didn't know because she never went to the doctors. Also the drugs she had taken helped along with the cancer. He started weeping. Everyone at her funeral was dressed in black, not giving a care in the world about this fiery redhead who had lost her way. Not even the Pretty Committee shed a tear. When it ended, Chris went up to her casket just to look at her one last time. She was dressed in a long silvery white gown, with her long fire curls resting on her pale white shoulders. Everyone thought that it was to represent the cocaine she had taken. Chris believed the white was for her angel personality. Nobody knew why she was dressed in white. She just... was. Chris kneeled down and prayed to God for her to go to Heaven. He didn't think that it was fair for angel who had lost her way to suffer down in Hell. It wasn't her fault she fell out of line. And it wasn't fair that Chris' angel had to die.


End file.
